


Hear Me In Silent Heartbeats

by kayura_sanada



Series: These Breaths We Breathe [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotionally Constipated Arthur, Hurt!Merlin, M/M, Plot, Sometimes Arthur is His Father's Son, Sometimes He's Really Not, Trouble In Paradise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the plaster settles, the repercussions of the secrets between Arthur and Merlin threaten to destroy their relationship completely. So of course that's when an old sorcerer decides to return to Camelot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Me In Silent Heartbeats

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Merlin isn't mine, nor are its characters.
> 
> Note: Yes, I know quillons weren't invented until around the 10th century. But since they're all over the show, I don't have to care.

Hear Me In Silent Heartbeats

 

 

The reason Arthur would turn on him sometimes, would send him that look and triple his list of chores, was because he hadn't fought to free himself.

Even though Arthur never said it, Merlin knew. It was there in the black moods he would fall into some evenings, his eyes tracking every movement Merlin made, in the thin lips and narrowed gaze whenever things were too quiet in the kingdom. There whenever they hurried to a court meeting, when they returned from a hunt. They no longer had sex.

He knew it wasn't about the magic because that was something Arthur never hesitated to bring up. Often. Loudly. It wasn't concern, because that had manifested those first couple of days, specifically after he'd found the wound on Merlin's back from Uther's knife, and then had seemed to disappear.

And it wasn't due to fear, even though that showed up enough. Arthur had refused to hear about Merlin's magic, and he almost seemed to want to continue acting as if it didn't exist – despite the constant berating on the subject. That might have hurt, but Arthur still demanded Merlin by his side. Maybe he was scared of it, but that wasn't all. Merlin understood – the more people who knew, the more danger Merlin would be in. Having the king out for his blood was enough. Arthur didn't want him being targeted by terrified civilians or righteous guards, and he didn't want Merlin to attack any of them, either. If anyone learned, there would be civil unrest, panic, people potentially coming for him day and night. And Arthur had demanded one thing of Merlin: that he live. So he had to do so.

But whenever Arthur got dangerously quiet and glared at Merlin, whether they were on the practice field or in the throne room, Merlin knew it was because he hadn't tried to free himself from his prison.

There was no way he could explain it to Arthur without infuriating him even further. Merlin had done it to spare Arthur the heartache of watching him die – Arthur couldn't understand that because he'd had no intention of letting Merlin die. Merlin, however, hadn't known that, and Merlin put Arthur as prince first, friend and lover second.

But when Arthur demanded to know why he hadn't fought and run, Merlin had only said that he couldn't do it. To run meant to run forever. From his family – he would be hunted in Ealdor; the king wouldn't let someone like him just leave, just as he hadn't Merlin's father. From his friends – everyone he knew was in Camelot, not just Arthur. But running from Arthur just wasn't acceptable.

Then why not escape after being trapped? Arthur might ask. And go where? If that was a plan, then why not just fight back to begin with? Why not cause a scene and have the guards form around him until finally one got lucky enough to sink their sword into Merlin's flesh? Leaving the crypt would have meant death just as much as fighting the king.

But that wasn't the entire truth. When Merlin had found himself unable to breathe and had heard Arthur's voice on the other side of the bricks, his magic had swirled around him. Because he'd wanted to see Arthur. His magic had always been something he controlled, oftentimes literally without thought. That once, it had taken his deepest desires and ignored his previous decision. Not to save someone, like with Gaius falling from the rafters, but just because Merlin had wanted so desperately to be with Arthur.

It was a problem.

The summer had gotten worse, hotter and hotter, unseasonably so, until the building was nearly clogged with it. Merlin was left to fetch water for Arthur at all hours of the day and night, and he once again made off to do so, noticing the emptiness of the jug before Arthur could see it himself and throw the thing at Merlin's head. Again.

He passed the guards in the castle, feeling their stares on him and wondering which, if any, knew his secret. Had Uther kept the secret in order to keep the people from worrying over the mental health of their prince, or had he instead put a watch on Merlin, trying to find a way to take care of him without Arthur finding out?

He slipped from the castle and into the town square. Here he was a little more anonymous, though people knew enough to give him wide berth in case he felt the need to tear through the milling crowd as if wild dogs were at his heels. As soon as he reached the well, however, he realized there was an order to the crowd, everybody turned to the corner of the higher town. Merlin heard odd, familiar noises, a clanging, banging sound and something like a roar. Instead of pure curiosity, something like resigned despair washed over him as he struggled to see past the packed group growing by the minute.

He caught sight of Gwen trying to pass the group and nodded to the growing mob. “What's that about?”

Gwen frowned over at the group, and Merlin saw a tension in her shoulders. “It's a new forge.” At Merlin's startled face, she gave him a small smile. “Remember the old buildings from the dragon's attack?” Merlin nodded, the memory of Kilgharrah's attack washing a new rush of guilt through him. “Seems they took one of the wrecks and turned it into a forge. It's okay, though, really,” she said as Merlin opened his mouth to speak. “My father – well, there's no one left to mind the forge, so it makes sense for them to have a new one built.” She scooted a bit further toward the castle, as if trying to leave even when speaking to Merlin. “The people need a forge; they can't all get their armor from the castle's smith, can they?” When Merlin gave a vague shake of his head, Gwen took the excuse to end the conversation and hurried away.

Merlin turned back to the sound of clanging, now recognizable as metal hammering metal, and felt his gut churn. A new forge meant a new blacksmith, which meant a new person in Camelot. And that never boded well for him.

* * *

 

He nearly stopped off at Gaius' to speak with him about the new arrival, but he heard the king's voice from the other side of the door and quickly planted himself against the wall. A passing servant looked at him for a moment, saw it was Merlin, rolled his eyes, and continued on.

The king was snarling at Gaius, and Merlin's heart sank. He'd heard these conversations before.

“I don't care what it takes, Gaius. I will not have that boy ruling over my son. There must be some way to destroy the magic he'd placed over Arthur, and I will find what it is. If you continue to fail me, I will have no choice but to do whatever it takes to ensure this ends. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, sire.”

Merlin's heart hammered in his chest. He knew what the king spoke of when he mentioned 'whatever it takes.' Arthur had given his father the ultimatum that Merlin live. That did not rule out torture or blackmail or even forceful removal, however, and Merlin was certain Uther would find a way to create the opportunity to do any or all of the above. Merlin didn't know what he would do when the time came. Defend himself? He might not have a choice; if he felt he had to, his magic might rise to the call. Especially if Arthur was somehow involved. But defending himself against the king would be as good as dropping the axe on his own neck.

He hurried along the passageway before Uther could storm out of Gaius' chambers. At least Gaius wasn't being held responsible for harboring a sorcerer. Instead he'd been recruited to find a way to break the so-called curse Merlin had placed on Arthur. At least Gaius didn't have to share Merlin's death sentence. But the relief was small, almost nonexistent, because Gaius would never rat Merlin out, and that meant Gaius might be held responsible for failing. And if nothing else, it would mean that Gaius would have to watch helplessly as the rest of the dominoes fell on Merlin's head.

* * *

 

The castle was far enough – or perhaps the walls thick enough – that the sound of pounding metal couldn't be heard. But there could be no doubt that the new business was booming; every day Merlin exited the castle, whether it be morning, midday or deep in the evening, he was nearly trampled to death by the number of people scurrying to and from the place. He watched, ever vigilant for the inevitable moment when everything would go to hell, but so far that day had not arrived. Instead the new blacksmith was surrounded at all times, accepting orders and presumably selling whatever he made. It wasn't long before Merlin heard talk of the man getting a helper.

It was on that day, merely fifteen days after the smithy opened, that Gaius pulled Merlin away from Arthur's dirty clothes to speak with him.

“That smithy is not all it seems, Merlin.”

Merlin didn't even bother acting surprised. Instead he nodded and left Arthur's shirts in the small tub and followed where Gaius led, walking down the thin servant's halls until Gaius felt they were alone enough. “What's going on, Gaius?” he asked, wishing he didn't sound so resigned.

Gaius didn't look around, didn't hunch over, simply arched an eyebrow as if scolding him, as always. “The man who came today to help the blacksmith is Liam Ashwald.” At Merlin's blank look, Gaius said, “he's an old colleague of mine. Very old. Say twenty years.” Still that pointedly raised eyebrow.

Merlin's eyes widened.

And here Gaius did bend into Merlin's space, just a little, and he dropped his voice a bit. “This man is not a friend to Camelot,” he said. “He ran at the start of the Purge, but he vowed revenge on Uther and the kingdom as he did.”

Of course he did.

“And you think he's planning something.”

“Why else would he risk returning to Camelot? Uther still sits upon the throne; there's every chance Liam could be recognized.”

“Then why not tell the king?”

But Gaius simply gave Merlin a strong glance. Ah. Right. He was a known sorcerer now; he would automatically be lumped in with the rest. The very assumption of such could give Uther the excuse he needed to squirrel Merlin away in the deepest, darkest hole in Camelot and not let him out until he'd been tortured so thoroughly that he confessed to crimes he'd never even heard of.

Merlin covered his face. Gods, he should have just made sure the king was unconscious that day. If he'd been just a bit more careful... “I'm so sorry, Gaius.”

It was an old refrain by now, and Gaius just patted him on the shoulder. “You saved their lives, Merlin.”

It was little consolation now, but Merlin nodded, anyway, knowing all of it was useless. “All right. I'll – I'll handle it.” But even as he said it, an insane idea had already manifested in his mind, and like a disease, it festered. Gaius patted him on the shoulder and made to leave by the time Merlin got his head on straight. “Oh! Gaius?”

“Yes, Merlin?”

When Gaius turned, Merlin spoke. “Do you know who the blacksmith is?”

“I'm afraid I don't, Merlin. The man hardly steps away from his forge. From what I've been told, he's a man with bright red hair and a grizzled jaw named Forrest Barrum.” By the look on Gaius' face, the man took it as a personal insult to not know more. “What his plans are I cannot say, but I am certain the two of them are up to no good.”

Liam and Forrest. Or Forrest and Liam? Who followed who? Or was Liam working alone? Probably not. That would mean Merlin's luck wasn't too horrendous, and he knew that wasn't the case.

Merlin nodded, his mind already on the issue before him. Gaius gave him a steeled look before walking away. Merlin wandered the castle, wondering if he should follow up on the insane impulse to tell Arthur. The prince's reaction to anything Merlin said had gone from resigned interest to deliberate interruptions immediately after that day, but it was still a threat to his kingdom, and he should be made aware of it. Besides, very, very rarely, the prince was useful.

Of course, there was the problem of Arthur potentially wanting to tell his father. Merlin was sure neither Gaius nor Uther had informed Arthur of the arrangement between the two of them, and Merlin certainly wasn't going to be the one to beat that hornet's nest.

He barely dodged two servants as they carried a giant array of flowers between them. Their sweet scent attacked his nose, and his entire face wrinkled from the stench. He hoped it was going in a large room, or else everyone who walked in would leave smelling like a garden. He imagined Arthur smelling like that and grinned.

Arthur.

Clothes.

Whoops.

He raced back to the laundry and stared glumly at the soggy pile. How was he ever going to find the time to take a closer look at that stupid forge?

* * *

 

Merlin raced up the stairs to Arthur's room and had a strange, bastard mix of happiness and horror to find Arthur already there. The man was looking over papers on his desk, and that gaze didn't bother leaving the parchment as Merlin entered, though there was no way he hadn't heard Merlin's approach.

Arthur's clothes were finally dry. Merlin shamefully – and shamefully felt ashamed – used magic to hurry the process, though he'd still tried to be as careful as possible in doing so. But what would happen, other than horror and fear? Would he be executed?

The dry humor wasn't really doing it this time.

Merlin dropped the load of clothing on Arthur's table, and only then did Arthur speak. “And where is dinner?”

Merlin nearly huffed. Then he realized Arthur wasn't kidding. “Coming right up,” he said, and left to go get it.

Arthur cleared his throat, and Merlin turned back around. “I believe you forgot something.” He raised one hand and gestured vaguely to the pile Merlin had just dropped.

For an instant, Merlin felt that usual spark of annoyance. He grabbed at it like a lifeline. “Of course, sire.” He picked up the stack and moved it from the table to the prince's bed. Then he left without another word, not bothering to check and see how Arthur was taking the now-rare show of attitude. He had dinner to grab.

It was as he was bringing up Arthur's food that he heard a small commotion at the entrance of the castle. He turned and was nearly unsurprised to see a red-haired man with a grizzled jaw standing in front of the guards. He sighed.

“I merely wish to bring to Lord Broll what he requested.” The man held out what looked like a small dagger. Even half-covered by a cloth, Merlin could see intricate carvings in the steel, like the whorls of a wave or a rising flame.

The guard held up his hand. “I understand that, but we can't just have you walking around on castle grounds.” Well, that was a nice change from everyone being allowed in whenever. Maybe Merlin had less to worry about than he feared. “We can have a servant come pick it up for you later.”

“But...”

Satisfied with the man not getting in, Merlin made to leave. “You!” Merlin sighed at the call of the guard. He turned very, very slowly, hoping vainly that the shout wasn't actually for him. It was not to be. “Take this to Lord Broll's chambers immediately.”

He jangled the plate filled with food, careful not to spill anything. “I have to take this to the prince.”

“Fine. After that, then.” Merlin blinked, then looked to the blacksmith. He looked highly perturbed by the guard's order. Well. Since Merlin hadn't been able to get to the smithy to check the place out, seeing the man's work might be the next best thing. He knew nothing about metalwork, but if the man worked with magic, maybe he could pick up a trace of it or something. It was worth a shot.

“Sure.”

The man hardly seemed willing to part with it; he held it for a few moments longer than necessary after Merlin moved to grab it, keeping careful eyes open for any attempt to mess with Arthur's food. Finally the man let go, and Merlin retreated up to Arthur's chambers. He stuffed the dagger down the back of his pants before pushing Arthur's door open.

Again, Arthur kept his eyes on his work as Merlin entered, and Merlin was half-tempted to dump the whole lot of the man's food on his head. Instead he placed it on the table beside the growing pile of parchment and moved to Arthur's clothing, still sitting on his bed.

It was quiet as he carefully straightened Arthur's shirts and hung them up in his cabinet. The tension was fine at first, then it seemed almost to crackle. Merlin shifted, slightly uncomfortable with the dagger in his back but unwilling to pick at Arthur's temper and leave the clothes unfinished, bore it silently, knowing what would happen.

He's finished the shirts and moved to the pants when finally it did. Arthur crumpled up a report he'd been reading and leaned back, deceptively at ease. “Explain it to me, Merlin.”

Merlin sucked in a silent breath.

Arthur looked at him, cerulean eyes hard. “Because after all this time, I still don't understand why you would never tell me. When I was _fucking_ you, you still chose to keep your secret.”

Merlin stilled, his hands frozen, Arthur's pants half-folded on the bed. He stared at the light cloth and shook. So that was what they're lovemaking had been reduced to in Arthur's mind. “I–”

“Was it a game to you? Was it funny?”

He closed his eyes, his shoulders hunching as the words collided against him. He let out a shaky breath. “Of course not.”

“Then why? Why ever lie with me if you couldn't feel fit to be honest?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Turned finally to Arthur and the fury in those oceanic eyes. “You love your father.”

The words only made Arthur's face contort horribly, and he stood from the table. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Arthur hadn't unsheathed his sword. Not yet. But his hand still rested on the pommel. “You love him. You believe in him. I couldn't ever tell you, force you to choose between us.”

Arthur opened his mouth, and Merlin thought maybe they would continue in their usual vein, the one of 'well I certainly had to anyhow, didn't I' and Merlin apologizing yet refusing to leave, and Arthur never demanding he do so, until they curled into a bitter silence that sparked with a never-fading tension. Instead Arthur pulled back, his eyes glinting. “That has nothing to do with the question I asked, Merlin. I demand a sufficient answer.”

And the change should have shocked Merlin, but it didn't. Instead it felt inevitable. Merlin dropped the pants back onto the bed. “I... I should have.” He actually found his gaze dropping, and though he hated it, he couldn't look up. “I knew you would never forgive me if – if I did and we – and then you found out...” He struggled to breathe. “But I couldn't. I tried to tell myself to...”

He heard Arthur step forward and looked up then, startled. Arthur stalked toward him, his hand off his sword but his gaze piercing into Merlin. He continued even when he was in front of Merlin, and Merlin found himself giving way to Arthur. Just a step. Then he held his ground. “But you chose to have sex with me, anyway. For fun? For sport?”

But Merlin was already shaking his head, eyes wide, hands in front of him as if to keep Arthur distant, even as the prince stepped deliberately into Merlin's space. “No,” he said. “No, it wasn't – I would never–”

“Yet you _did_.”

Merlin nodded, then frowned and shook his head, then nodded again. Arthur snarled. “I shouldn't have–”

“No,” Arthur agreed. “You shouldn't have.”

“It's just...” And here Arthur opened his mouth, and Merlin knew it would be a dismissal. And he couldn't let it end like that. “I should have, I know I should have, I knew it then, but I couldn't. You were awkward and kind've pathetic–” _not really making it any better, Merlin!_ “–and I couldn't leave it, not when it was – it was _selfish_ but I couldn't because I...” He choked on the word, even then, and was mortified when tears pricked the backs of his eyes. He widened them further and finally did back away, scooting to the side to escape Arthur. He'd seen something in Arthur's gaze that said Arthur might have deciphered Merlin's last words.

He thought Arthur would definitely bring it up. The old Arthur may have joked about it, mocked him a bit, demanded to know 'because you what,  _Mer_ lin,' but that Arthur was gone. Instead Arthur said, “so you decided to sleep with me and keep me from the truth. You made a false relationship your truth.”

Merlin clenched his eyes shut. “It was wrong,” he said. He felt like his entire body was shaking apart. “I know it; I'm sorry. I just...”

“Couldn't keep it in your pants.”

Merlin shuddered. “I couldn't say no to you,” he said, and looked back over at Arthur, at the rigidity of his shoulders and the way Arthur was glaring down at him, even though they were practically the same height. Merlin might have even been taller by a hair, and yet Arthur still could look at him as if Merlin were little more than a bug on his shoe.

“Please,” Arthur said in response to Merlin's words, his voice dripping. “You say no to me all the time.”

“Not when it counts,” Merlin said, and he watched as Arthur opened his mouth to retort, then actually thought about it and closed it again. Merlin could see Arthur going through his memories, searching out for a time when Arthur had demanded something important and had gotten nothing but acquiescence. He frowned.

“So you had sex with me because I wanted it.”

Merlin scowled. “No, you prat. If it was something stupid like that, I wouldn't be seen in the light of day with you.” Arthur started at that, and Merlin realized he'd actually told Arthur off for the first time in days. It made him drop his gaze again. “It's because you had basically confessed your feelings, and I couldn't lie about how I felt.” His cheeks heated despite himself. “I couldn't hurt you like that, not when the pain would be unwarranted.”

Arthur was silent. It was the first time their argument did something other than escalate and crash. There was no tension in the room, when for weeks there had been nothing but. Merlin chanced a look up and found Arthur loose, nearly defeated. His brows were drawn slightly, but his eyes were on the floor. “Oh,” Arthur finally said, and Merlin felt even worse than when the tension ate away at them. He cleared his throat.

“I'm sorry,” he said, and shifted from foot to foot. He didn't know if he should stay or go. He hadn't been dismissed, but Arthur seemed to want to absorb what Merlin said alone. He finally turned to go when Arthur stopped him.

“Merlin.”

He looked back behind him. Arthur hadn't yet fully recovered; his body still drooped slightly, as if a heavy weight had been pressed into his shoulders. “Yes, Arthur?”

Arthur scowled. His usual default mask. “If I told you to throw yourself on the pyre, would you?”

Merlin's heart skittered in his chest. He'd thought of it a million times over, and had always found himself facing the same conclusion. “My life is yours, Arthur. All of it. At any time.”

The words made Arthur's face contort again, but this time it was almost as if he'd been slapped. Merlin couldn't quite define the look in any other way.

“You're – you're dismissed, Merlin.”

Merlin canted his head in acknowledgment and left, softly closing the door behind him. On his way down the hall, he heard something break against the wall of Arthur's rooms.

* * *

 

Asking Arthur to help him was out.

It wasn't because he thought Arthur might go to Uther, or because he thought Arthur wouldn't want to listen to him. It was because there was no more trust between them. Even if Arthur listened, they wouldn't be able to tackle it together. Not as a team. Not anymore.

Before, Arthur had at least trusted Merlin to be there with him, for him, one hundred percent. Now there was nothing of that there. Merlin could feel the gap as one might a gaping wound. The idea of having Arthur beside him, watching out for him, while Arthur paid no attention to where Merlin was or whether he was okay...

He covered his face, right there in the middle of the hallway, only a few halls down from Arthur's room. The dagger still sat against his back, and he shivered as the cloth slipped off slightly and the cool metal pushed against his skin. He thought it might have cut him a bit, and he pulled it off to make sure. No, it hadn't. He sighed.

It was even more intricate than he'd thought; while some of the details were carved into the metal, others jutted out from the dagger, like pieces of the blade were actually little more than thread and were pulled by the wind, creating spiraling shapes around the quillon. The swirling metal continued down from the crossguard and around the hilt before finally swirling into the pommel, almost as if that was where they'd all sprung from to begin with. Merlin couldn't believe his eyes. It was the most exquisite thing he'd ever seen, and that might even include the sword Kilgharrah had enchanted for Arthur.

As soon as he held the dagger by the hilt, he understood how. He nearly dropped the thing in his rush to escape the feeling of – of screaming. He held his breath. It was like shadows shook within the small dagger's frame. While one might think the metal working to be of ridiculously fine quality, it hadn't been through working metal that the man had achieved what he had. Merlin's heart pounded in his chest. How long had he been allowing this to happen? And right under his nose, right beside the castle, and all along the man was... was twisting and contorting human souls into his metal. Who? How many?

He took a deep breath. Maybe it hadn't been until Liam came. Maybe Liam was the reason this dagger felt like evil had been worked into its thin frame. Merlin twisted the blade in his hand, wincing again as he took hold of the hilt – like one might if they were about to use it, he realized. His fingers trembled at the touch of the metal. He could feel a part of him reacting, trying to push the metal away.

Whatever this thing was, it couldn't be used by another human being. He had no idea how he knew, but if the metal of the blade sunk into another man's flesh, that soul would be torn from the man's body. He could feel it, like he could feel his own heartbeat in his chest.

What was the point of making such a blade for a nobleman? The blade seemed to be made for decoration, except Merlin knew without doubt that it was sharp to the touch.

Lord Broll meant to use this blade on someone. It didn't matter who; Merlin had to see to it that the man never had such an opportunity.

His first job was to put the blade somewhere where no one would touch it. Outside of burying it or throwing it in the lake with Arthur's sword – which seemed blasphemous somehow – he couldn't think of anything. His second task was to somehow free the souls, if that was possible. Or, maybe that would have to wait until he ensured no other soul would be used for such a thing? Merlin held the dagger out like one might a snake, then reconsidered. He would have to wrap it up, or else someone might recognize it. What if he ran into Lord Broll? The man hardly left his rooms since he'd arrived over three weeks ago, but wouldn't it be just Merlin's luck for him to leave just as Merlin was squirreling away his commissioned dagger?

Okay. Okay. No time for panicking. He just needed to act like his usual bumbling self long enough to get to his room and... and what? The guard knew Merlin had been the last to see the dagger. It was only a matter of time before Broll got annoyed and searched the dagger – a search that would lead him straight to Merlin.

Again, Merlin's first thought was to go to Arthur. But then what? What protection would Arthur be willing to give?

He closed his eyes. No. He had no time for the clawing ache rearing up inside him. He'd known this would happen the moment he'd learned he was starting to care for Arthur. The moment he'd handed Arthur the head of the shield's snake and heard Arthur say, “then I believe you.” He'd known in that instant that he would be destroyed.

His first concern had to be Arthur. If Liam and/or Forrest was able to create such a weapon, then Liam's hatred for Camelot and the Pendragon line made it only a matter of time before they attacked. Merlin had to hide the dagger, at least for now, and take care of those two before anything else.

No more trying to find a few hours' reprieve to spy on the smithy while the men worked. He needed to go now. Tonight.

Merlin carefully tucked the cloth around the dagger and hurried to his room.

* * *

 

“Are you certain?”

Merlin nodded vigorously, thrilled to see that he was able to get two minutes to talk to Gaius without Arthur throwing the door open and dumping more work on his shoulders. “I know it, Gaius. I could feel them – two souls, both men. They were screaming, Gaius. It was... it was awful.” He sat at Gaius' bench as the old man stirred whatever stew he'd made for the night. Normally Merlin wasn't able to eat until well after sundown, but this time the sun was still a line on the horizon. Merlin had no idea how long his luck would hold, and he hurried on. “One had been used to forge the thing, Gaius. Like... like his soul had been placed in the metal, and the smith had actually been pulling the soul. That was how he made such intricate pieces – he'd been pulling the threads of a person's spirit, not the metal. As soon as you grab the hilt, you can feel it.”

Gaius turned at that, those eyebrows actually lowered for once. “Not immediately?”

Merlin blinked. The stew bubbled. “No,” he said, only then realizing it for the truth. “No, I could only feel them once I was holding the dagger. Like I was about to use it.” Why was that? Merlin pondered it as Gaius returned to stirring. The aroma of the food clashed horribly with the smells of the potions and poultices, as always. Merlin sighed. “What do you suppose it means?”

“I'm sure I don't know, Merlin. But whatever it is, such magic is as dark as it gets. Anything that has to do with a man's soul is deep, dark magic of the blackest kind. Whatever those men are up to – whatever Lord Broll wants with the device – it can't be good.”

Merlin nodded absently. Obviously the feeling could only be known by the person wielding the dagger. Was it to protect the owner from prying eyes? Or was there a different meaning? Even Excalibur seemed to shine slightly. Of course, only he who held the blade could feel the power in it...

Merlin's eyes widened. The power.

“Do you... do you think the souls give the person holding the dagger more power?”

Gaius didn't even flinch. “Oh, most certainly, Merlin. A person's soul can be very powerful indeed.” Gaius picked up a couple of bowls and poured the stew into both. Merlin got up to take them from the man and place them on the table. “Some even say that fate is nothing more than two men's wills colliding.” Gaius finally sat, and Merlin did the same. “Most likely,” Gaius continued, leaning in as Merlin looked down at his food, his stomach roiling, “these tortured souls have now been forced to turn their wills into the will of the one wielding the blade. In other words, Merlin,” Gaius said, and Merlin finally looked back up. That eyebrow was soaring once more. “ The one holding the blade can bend fate.”

Merlin's eyes widened. “How?”

But here Gaius backed down, and he began eating as if they weren't discussing something Merlin had thought impossible. “I don't know, Merlin. But you of all people should be careful. Your fate is not one that should be twisted, especially not by such an ill-purposed thing as that dagger.”

Merlin's heart pounded in his chest. He looked at his food and nearly threw up. “I have to go.” He stood.

“But your food – wait! Merlin!”

But Merlin raced out the door, because the one who made that blade could make a hundred more if he wasn't stopped.

* * *

 

The smithy was dark, even though the embers of the forge were still burning. The forge sat under a small overhang, though the rest of it was left open to keep the place from filling with smoke. Yet Merlin could still see more clouds of it as he scanned the area. It obscured his view of the rest of the smithy. He couldn't even tell if someone was in the back, hiding in the shadows. He covered his nose and stepped toward the forge. If anyone asked, he could just say he was curious. But no one stopped him.

It was only just night; a few people still walked the streets, most heading home after a long day waiting hand and foot on those in the castle. Merlin could just make out Gwen heading home, her shawl wrapped close around her. Normally, Merlin would call out to her, offer to walk her home. Instead he watched for as long as he could, hidden in the shadows, until she was out of his sight. He had no way of knowing whether she got home safe, but he had to attend to this first.

At first look, there was nothing odd about the smithy; Merlin didn't know enough about forges to be sure, but he recognized the bellows and the tongs, and there was absolutely nothing that screamed 'magic' or 'enchanted.' Of course, that only made sense, he supposed.

He looked to the door of the smithy. Inside would no doubt be at least one of the men, unless they planned to do something immediately. And maybe they did. Maybe the dagger was the first sign of something, and they expected Lord Broll to have it by now. Merlin's heart hammered in his chest. To be honest, he had no idea how to stop them from pulling more souls into more weapons. He didn't even know if they'd been doing it for years. Maybe they had a surplus of weapons like the dagger.

Still, he wouldn't know anything until he actually looked for the answers. Which meant sneaking into the smithy. Which he would have to do in a few hours, once the area was quieter. Until then, he should search for anything that might hint to what the two–

Merlin crouched and ducked into a corner of the forge as the door to the smithy opened. The first man to step through was Forrest; his hair, shockingly bright even in the night's darkness, stood out immediately. The other was a man Merlin didn't recognize; older, balding, with wrinkles that pulled his mouth into a permanent scowl. Merlin wanted to entertain the thought of the man as as customer, but the way the two shared a look before scanning the thin crowd told him otherwise. “He'll provide the best distraction, Forrest,” the balding man said, his voice cracking slightly as if worn from use. “When he's caught killing his mouthy young mistress, we'll have plenty of chaos with which to disguise ourselves. It only takes one good nick.” Merlin's breath froze in his chest as the balding man pulled out another dagger, as intricately carved as one for Lord Broll, from a small sheathe at his side. “And we'll be free.”

Forrest reached his hand out as if to touch the dagger, then sharply pulled it away. Merlin thought he saw a flash of a grin on Liam's face. “It should be soon. The man seemed stupidly eager for the chance to get rid of the woman.”

Forrest's lips turned down. “We should tell the guards what he intends to do.”

Liam shrugged. Despite his age, he had the muscles of a blacksmith, just like Forrest. “It works out too well for us. One lost for all the lives saved. Sounds like an obvious choice to me.”

Merlin's stomach churned. If only he knew who the mistress was, he could warn her. Thank goodness he'd been the one passing by when Forrest had shown up at the castle gates. Maybe his luck wasn't so bad, after all.

They just stood there for a few minutes. Merlin's heart hammered as he thought about them catching him, pulling him forward, stabbing him with that dagger... again, his magic curled inside of him, ready for battle. With heightened senses, he took in the way Forrest kept glancing down at the dagger, the way he inched slowly away from it. Afraid of it or just wary?

“Will my daughter's spirit really find rest like this?” Forrest asked. Those bushy red brows fell so low over his eyes they hid them in shadow.

Liam grinned. The hairs on Merlin's neck rose. “Not just your daughter, Forrest. Everyone. Your little Julia, my darling Amman. Once they understand the endless suffering we've endured.” Liam jiggled the handle of the dagger. Forrest almost flinched. “At least they'll have the comfort of suffering together,” Liam said. “Mercy. Just as you asked.”

Liam laughed. Forrest looked sick. Still, he didn't argue. They both just turned to look at the castle.

Oh, Merlin realized. They were waiting for the ruckus to start. Waiting for Lord Broll to kill his mistress. Which wasn't going to happen.

Merlin curled his fingers back into the stone corner of the smithy. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 

Near dawn, they finally slipped back inside, Liam cursing under his breath, complaining about old fools. At least Liam had made the supposition that the lord had wanted one last night with 'the harlot.' Merlin barely escaped before he heard Forrest open the door again. He watched from the street corner as the grizzled man headed to the forge and felt his heart hammering in his chest.

He wanted to go to Gaius immediately, but he hardly managed to reach the hall before he heard the king's voice in Gaius' chambers, and he was just too tired to listen to what the king was saying this time. He slipped away and headed to the kitchens to grab Arthur's breakfast before he woke. Apparently his early arrival – dawn was just breaking – spooked one of the women into nearly dropping her flour. He was chased out of the kitchens with a reprimand to 'at least keep to some sort of a schedule.' He just nodded and smiled.

He hurried to Arthur's room, barely bothering to keep the tray straight. But when he reached the door, he hesitated. So stupid. He had more important things to worry about than how Arthur felt about him. He'd always known it would end. So it had ended. So what? Life moved on.

He took a deep breath and stepped inside.

Food tray on the table. Clothing from the cabinet, placed on Arthur's chair. Windows... He made the mistake of looking over to the bed, and he caught sight of Arthur's hair, his face. Dammit, he was turned toward Merlin today.

It wasn't fair to be so in love with someone so untouchable. Not just in looks, though the man was like a sculpture from a wet dream. Not just in stature, though being a prince made that a pretty tall order, too. Not just in personality, though his goodness was something few could achieve.

No. There was something altogether about the man. Merlin had seen it the moment Arthur had accepted his word on the enchanted shield, and then over and over again, every time, without fail; the love the man carried for his people, for his kingdom, and once... yes, once, a long time ago – for him.

Merlin closed his eyes, turned away, and threw open the curtains. “Time to get up, m'lord.”

Arthur groaned and turned his head from the sun. He did not get up.

“Arthur.” Merlin bit his lip; he knew better than to say that name, to twist himself up with impossibilities. Maybe he'd always known this day would come. Maybe so. But he'd never wanted it to come with Arthur's disdain. “We have trouble.”

Arthur did open his eyes then, and he sat up so quickly Merlin jumped back. “My father? Has he done anything?”

Those blue eyes glared at Merlin, up and down. Merlin barely shook his head. “No. But the smithy–”

“The smithy?” Arthur scoffed and sat up. “I thought you looked like that because...” His voice trailed off, and then his eyes turned hard again. “Were you at the tavern all night? You look like you've not gotten any...” And again, he trailed off, but this time his eyes widened. “No. You never admitted to going to the tavern, did you? You never  _ actually _ went there, did you? It was all a lie, wasn't it?”

Merlin winced.

“Damn you, Merlin! Just how many lies are you going to feed me?”

“Arthur–”

“No!” Arthur threw his hand up and rushed from the bed. “I don't want to hear it. Just get out.”

“But–”

“No buts, Merlin! Be happy I'm not sacking you.” Arthur turned his face to see the food tray, sitting on the table, then the clothing on the chair, and Merlin thought he could see the man boiling. “Get out!”

Merlin's heart jumped. “I'm going, sire.” He bowed and slipped around Arthur to head to the door. Everything was silent. The tension from earlier weeks was thicker now than ever. He touched the hard oak of the door, the fine grains in its polished surface. “One day, sire,” he said without turning, “I'm going to ask you why you kept me alive. And perhaps on that day, you may find you no longer have an answer for me.”

The door closed behind him with a soft click.

* * *

 

He had to choose. Should he focus on Lord Broll, try to stop him from murdering his mistress? Or should he go after Liam and Forrest? Or should he focus on protecting Arthur and Uther? It had sounded like they were the targets; of course he could be wrong, as neither Liam nor Forrest mentioned names, but when was it ever about anyone other than those two? It felt like every week he was fighting to keep them alive.

He rubbed his eyes and leaned against one of the castle walls. At least Arthur's outburst had cut off the usual stream of chores, so he had the day free to try to deal with the problem. He hated himself for it, but he immediately dismissed Lord Broll and his mistress. He had to; as disgusting as it was, Liam was right. One woman or the entire kingdom? Uther's and Arthur's deaths would mean the end of Camelot. There would be rioting, rebellion, looting. Noblemen would fight wars over the throne. Other countries would see the weakness and take the chance to invade, and without a united army, they would succeed. Camelot would be divided into sections, reined by kings who didn't care one whit for their people.

And worse – perhaps only worse to Merlin – Arthur would be dead.

That left the two choices – either focus on stopping Liam and Forrest before they tried to do anything, or try to focus on protecting Arthur and Uther. And again, that one seemed like a no-brainer; he couldn't even get in to see Arthur at the moment, after all. And even if he could, Uther wouldn't want Merlin anywhere near him, and he had no way of knowing when they would strike. At night again? Or would Liam simply take a nap – a nap Merlin couldn't afford to take – and enter the castle with that dagger? He'd said one good nick was all it would take. Liam could potentially just walk into the castle and start dropping bodies.

Merlin shuddered. No, he couldn't let anyone fall victim to that. Not if he could help it.

There was no point trying to creep around during the day, but he did anyway, taking the servant's routes and trying to avoid guards whenever possible. He didn't want to be seen or called out, given any orders or asked where he was going. He needed anonymity. Thankfully, even as Arthur's infamously foolish servant, the status of lowest in the kingdom's hierarchy granted him exactly that.

If he could grab the dagger – of course, what were the chances Liam didn't have it on him still? – but if he could just grab that, then he would have the advantage. He might even be able to threaten the men with telling the king of their plan. It wasn't like they knew he couldn't afford to tell the king any such thing. Maybe that would scare them off? But that might only buy him some time. If prince prat had only listened to him, he could have taken away the weapon and Arthur could have arrested the men. It would have meant no deaths. Well, no deaths unless the king felt fit to see them punished, which meant no death by his own personal hand and little else.

But still.

It wasn't like he'd never helped Arthur take down people before. And after Nimueh, he'd have thought it would be easier. He was glad it wasn't. He was. Except in times like these.

If he wasn't running around during the day, he would take the staff he stole from the Sidhe. As it was, it was weaponless that he arrived, midday, at the smithy. It was busy, as usual, a small crowd of people watching the smith work. Merlin wondered if it was Forrest or Liam, then wondered if there were souls worked into the metal. He felt slightly sick at that.

He couldn't just murder Liam and Forrest in front of everyone. But maybe the crowd could work to his advantage? If he could get everyone's attention on something for a second and then magic the dagger away from Liam... he hurried to the crowd, stopping only when he saw a flutter of a skirt. He recognized Gwen just as she saw him. Her eyes darkened slightly as she took in his race toward the forge. “Errand,” he called, not wanting her to think he'd replaced her father with the new forge. She nodded and continued toward the castle, but the darkness didn't leave her eyes. He would have to speak with her later.

Forrest was at the forge, but Liam stood with him, holding tongs and working the cooling metal while Forrest hammered out what looked to be a shield. Merlin couldn't tell which might be using souls for their purpose, but of the two, his money was on Liam. Merlin squirmed his way to the front of the group and watched as Liam twisted the metal of a small brooch. He couldn't feel is screaming or souls tearing apart, but he could feel magic. How did the man have the gall to use magic so openly? Yet as Merlin peeked at the crowd, he realized no one else felt it. No one else realized what it was. To them, he was just a skilled man playing with heated metal.

Merlin took a deep breath. He couldn't see the dagger on the man, but that wasn't surprising. Maybe Liam didn't even have it on him? But Merlin doubted it. The man would want to be ready the instant a ruckus started in the castle. He would need the dagger on him, or at least nearby. Which meant it had to be somewhere in the forge.

It took some looking, during which a few people left, most likely to start their work, and a couple actually leaned in while the men worked and asked for certain items to be made – here, a necklace and a crested brooch, respectively. Apparently, Merlin learned, there was a waiting list. He wondered how many people were unwittingly wearing cursed objects and shuddered. He saw the brooch just as he was recovering, sitting in a little sheath on the side of the forge. It was wrapped almost as if waiting for someone to come pick it up – hidden in plain sight. Merlin bit his lip. How could he move it without anyone noticing? It was right there, right in front of everyone.

He looked around. It was time to cause that distraction.

Merlin pulled himself just slightly away from the crowd, but made sure he could still see the dagger. Distraction, distraction... people were still heading to work or preparing for the day. A few people were opening their shops, yawning and looking guilty for opening late. A small line had formed outside the weaver's, and the man was apologizing profusely to the people tapping their feet or rolling their eyes. Just at the edge of the high town was the water pump, four people lined up with buckets...

Merlin slipped back into the group, his eyes on the water pump. When a harried-looking woman ran up to the blacksmith and shouted out an order for barrel hoop rivets, Merlin took his chance. “ _ Wæter  _ _ ábirsteaþ. _ ”

The water from the pump burst out as the next woman in line started pumping. She shrieked and jumped back, shoving the two women still waiting behind her backward and toppling the last to the ground. And like clockwork, every single head turned to the sound of screams.

Merlin whipped his head back around and caught sight of Liam – staring at him, eyes wide. Merlin lifted his chin. “ _ Onbregdan. _ ”

The dagger shot to the floor and skidded toward Merlin. If possible, those eyes widened further.

Merlin snatched the dagger up as a few people moved to help the soaked women. The souls inside the dagger screamed and raged in his hand. Liam jerked toward him, grabbing Forrest's attention from the scene by the water pump, and Merlin hurried away.

This was the part he hadn't fully considered; should he run away and risk Liam and Forrest accusing him of theft? He could potentially get away for a short while by hiding in the castle, but that wouldn't solve anything. He needed to get these men to leave. And if they refused... well, he would have to deal with that when it came.

He walked as quickly as he could without raising suspicion toward the lower town. Here it was much less busy, as most people had already left their homes to go to work, and Merlin took to the backstreets and fled. He thought he could hear someone shouting behind him. He hoped it wasn't Liam calling for the guards. With him being the one holding a magical item, it could fall to his word versus Liam's. And that would not end well.

He stopped before he reached the gates; two guards stood at the entrance, and he didn't know whether to continue past them, offering an excuse about herbs, or if he should stay in the back alleys. If he hurried forward, he could be seen on his way from Camelot, and the guards could enter the conflict. With the dagger involved, he didn't want anyone caught in the crossfire. Honestly, he wanted to destroy the thing, but he didn't know how to do that. And the thought of Liam losing patience and attacking Arthur... Merlin took a deep breath. He had to take care of things as soon as possible, before Arthur threw Merlin from his side. Before Merlin found himself unable to protect Arthur anymore.

“ _Stede!”_

Merlin's body froze in the act of stepping forward, and his heart thudded hard against his ribcage. That had been Liam's voice. He struggled to turn and found himself rooted as if like a statue to the ground. He pulled his magic forward.

“Who are you, boy? What do you think you're doing?”

That was right. Liam didn't know him. Forrest was the one who'd handed him the dagger. Was the man with Liam? Did he recognize Merlin? Merlin yanked his magic through his body. He felt it like a second skin under the first. It reminded him of his time in the crypt, the magic almost eager to come forth, already wrapping around him. He twitched his fingers. They responded.

“Do you know what that thing is? You need to be careful.”

Merlin's face twisted. That was not the voice of someone warning or threatening someone else, but the voice of someone concerned. Liam had seen Merlin using magic to steal his dagger.

“Come on, boy.” Liam was getting closer. What if the man took the dagger back? Merlin could still feel the souls inside it, writhing against the edges of the metal, almost making the dagger vibrate like a dowsing rod. “You can feel it, can't you? That's no ordinary dagger. You need to give it to me. Whatever you have to do, I can help you.”

Merlin closed his eyes. The man was getting closer and closer; Merlin could hear the man's footsteps softly crunch along the dirt path. He gripped the dagger tighter. Should he throw the man back? Fight? Run? Well, he'd already told himself he would have to fight. But using his magic in broad daylight in the middle – well, edge – of town, with only a couple of guards away? His heart hammered. But he couldn't use the cursed dagger. The very idea was unthinkable.

“You don't have to worry, kid. I have magic, too. Okay? Whatever you have to do, you don't have to do it alone.”

Liam was right behind him. Merlin could feel the heat from the man's body on his back. Finally, he moved, twisted away and glared at the man. Liam's eyes went wide once more. Forrest wasn't there. He must have been left at the forge. At least that made it one on one. “You plan on hurting the prince, don't you?” He pulled the dagger closer to his chest, afraid the man might make a grab for it, or might try to use his own magic to pull it away. But Liam's brows were furrowing, and the man didn't seem to be ready to attack. It was an advantage. Yet Merlin hesitated. Why? Why couldn't he attack? Throw the man down, push him away?

“How did you learn about that?” Liam asked, and a cold ball of weight dropped in Merlin's stomach. He didn't _want_ this man to be an enemy.

“Arthur is a good man. He loves his kingdom and its people. He always fights for what's right. He worries and hurts when his people suffer.” Merlin curled the dagger a bit closer, and Liam reached out, a startled sound splitting his lips. “You have no reason to hurt him. But if you do, or you go after his father, he and the people of this country will only know hatred for us. You'll be ruining our chance for peace forever.”

Liam shook his head. “No. He may love his people, but he doesn't care about us. Now give me the dagger. You're going to hurt yourself.”

Merlin pulled away from the man's outstretched hand. His fingers shook. If this man attacked, Merlin would have to defend himself. But this man had offered him protection. Assistance, even when Merlin stole something precious from him. He thought of Edwin and cringed. “You're wrong. Arthur cares about everyone. He'll change this country! I know it! He even – he even saved me from Uther. Even though he wants nothing to do with me now, he still keeps me by his side in order to protect me!”

Liam stopped.

Merlin's heart pounded. He kept the dagger close, away from Liam's reach, nearly curled around it as if to shield it from the man. If the man came at him, he would have to fight. It would be another death on his hands. Just another death. In order to protect Arthur. He could do it. “He'll change this country,” Merlin said. “When he takes the throne, things will change.”

Liam shook his head. “'When he takes the throne'? Child, that could be decades from now. And that's going on the assumption that the boy would ever change his father's laws. You said it yourself, didn't you? 'He wants nothing to do with me now.' Let me guess. Once he found out you had magic, he changed. Didn't he?”

“He's _protecting_ me.”

Liam's lips thinned. Merlin's heart sank. “He's using you, kid.”

“No, he's not. Arthur's not like that.” Merlin lifted his chin and faced off against the man. “You don't even know him. He's good.”

Liam took a step forward. Merlin, still protecting the dagger, stepped away. He thought of throwing the man back. Thought of the guards just around the corner of the buildings he hid behind. He bit his lip. Liam wasn't backing down. He had to. In order to protect Arthur, he had no other choice.

“Merlin!”

Merlin jerked at the sound of his name being called. Even though it was still far away, he would recognize Arthur's voice anywhere. Liam narrowed his eyes. “Merlin, is it? Hand me the dagger. You don't want to know what happens when you wield that blade.”

“People become part of the dagger, don't they? They're trapped.” The man raised a brow. “You're willing to do such a thing to others? Yet you say _Arthur's_ the monster.” That was right. He'd let himself forget just what this man had been willing to do to get his so-called freedom. “I won't let you hurt him.”

If anything, Liam's lips simply tightened further. He dropped his hand. “Fine, kid. If that's what you want.” He raised his hand again. “ _ Forbærne! _ ”

“ _Scildan!_ ” Merlin hissed, then gasped. The twisting, writhing souls curled out from the dagger as if crawling toward the warmth of his magic. A cold snaked up his arm, as if the souls were reaching for him, grabbing his arm, pulling him in. His magic nearly burned him as it rejected the touch, and his arm spasmed. He dropped the dagger. The fire Liam had called hit Merlin square in the chest. He flew back. When he hit the dirt, the breath rushed from his lungs. He gasped.

“I tried to tell you, boy. That weapon is cursed.” Merlin's arm shook still, as if a current ran through it. He grabbed it and struggled to stand up. Liam walked to the dagger. Merlin's eyes flashed as he scooted it away from the man. It bounced against the back of someone's home, practically right between them. Liam looked up. “Stop. I told you, I don't want to hurt you.”

“Merlin!”

Closer now, and Merlin thought he could hear something in Arthur's voice that he'd thought was long gone. It made Merlin push himself up with his bad arm, the thing almost giving out as it took his weight, and hold up his good hand. “ _ Ic þé wiþdrífe!” _ Liam flew back and landed hard on the ground. Merlin took the chance to struggle to his feet. His arm still jolted, but it followed his orders. He ran toward the dagger.

“ _Bæl on bryne!”_

Fire surged before him, a long line of flames that crackled as he rushed forward. His magic curled around him. His arm jerked. Liam hurried forward and snatched up the dagger, curling his large fingers over the hilt. Merlin waved his hand, and the wall of fire vanished. Merlin heard someone shout – the guards. They'd seen the smoke? Or had they seen him?

“Stay where you are!”  
  
Merlin heard Arthur's shout and turned to look behind him. And then there Arthur was, turning the corner of the building and stopping as he took in the signs of battle. Arthur's eyes caught on Merlin, then the smoke still swirling around him, and finally Merlin's adversary. His eyes widened. “Pendragon!” Liam hissed. Merlin turned.

By the time Merlin turned, the dagger was already in the air, Liam's body half-bent from the throw. The dagger was not aimed at him. “No!” Merlin shouted, and ran in front of Arthur, whipping his hand out. His magic shot from him, only half his mind aware, and wrapped around the dagger. He could feel the cold stench of the souls as the dagger stopped, turned, and shot out once again. It plunged into Liam's chest to the hilt. The man dropped.

Merlin covered his lips as Liam's body thumped to the dirt. He could hear Liam's soul screaming, being sucked into the dagger. He covered his ears. “No.”

“Merlin?” Arthur reached for him, and despite himself, he flinched. Arthur dropped his hand. “What...?”

Merlin lurched toward Liam's body, then held himself. “He... I don't know if Forrest would have worked with him – the blacksmith,” he said to clarify, though he didn't look over his shoulder at Arthur to see if the prince was following him. “He was planning to – the dagger,” he said, waving stupidly at the soulless body. His stomach rolled. “It's cursed. He was planning on using it on you and Uther.”

Arthur was silent, and Merlin couldn't stand to look at him. He found himself moving toward that body, his eyes trapped. When he knelt down, his hand brushed against the hilt. He flinched back at the feel of Liam's soul, trapped with the other two, screaming and scratching beneath the metal. He shuddered. “I don't know if Forrest stayed behind at the forge, but we need to find him. He... he had reservations...” Merlin pulled his hand away. “No one should touch this dagger,” he said. He felt his magic curl around him once again, and he let it. He didn't think the dagger was something that could be destroyed, at least not easily. Yet still his magic reacted, encircled the hilt and Liam's body, and Merlin's eyes flashed. “ _ Unbletsung bryne áflíegung. _ ” The hilt shot into flames, rising like a torch from Liam's body. Merlin watched for only a few moments, then struggled to his feet. The screams were louder now, more enraged. He wondered that no one ran over to wonder who was making such horrible sounds. He looked over to Arthur; it appeared that he heard absolutely nothing; the prince's eyes were on him, wide, nearly frightened. He looked back down. The wood of the hilt was melting away, but the metal remained. It didn't dissipate.

The curse wasn't so easily destroyed.

He turned to Arthur. “I'm sorry. I can't... I don't know how.”

He expected anger, potentially at everything: his using magic, his recklessness, his inability to destroy the dagger, maybe just because Arthur was most likely confused and when Arthur was confused, he lashed out. But instead Arthur just watched him silently. It made Merlin's nerves itch. Finally Merlin couldn't take it any more. “I heard them talking last night. I tried to tell you, but...” He switched. “It's not like I was going behind your back. And I know you don't like my... my abilities, but they're a part of who I am and with them, I can protect you.” That might not have come out right. “I couldn't just let them use that,” he pointed, “that thing on you–”

“Enough.”

Arthur's voice was rough, almost callused. Merlin shut up.

Arthur stepped forward, his gaze only on Merlin, ignoring the bleeding body just beside him. “You came to know of this how?”

Merlin couldn't believe it. “You think I – I was a part of this?” Oh. Merlin backed away, eyes wide. “You think that I would ever – that I could...”

“Merlin–”

He shook his head. “Gaius remembered him from before the Purge, and Uther would have thought... thought...”  _ Thought the same thing as you _ . “That's why I...”  _ I went to you, because I thought you would be different. _ He'd believed in Arthur. Liam's words echoed in his head.  _ “Let me guess. Once he found out you had magic, he changed. Didn't he?” _

“Don't touch the dagger,” Merlin said, his mind breaking. He'd believed in Arthur's destiny, and in his own. He'd believed Camelot could be made great, that he and others with magic could live in peace. He'd seen so much good in Arthur. Even now, with Arthur accusing him of treason, of trying to kill him, Merlin could see the man's honor, the wrecked, pained look on his face, like Arthur knew what he'd said was harsh. Like Arthur didn't want to hurt Merlin. He was a good man. “It's cursed; there are souls trapped within. Liam's, now, too, thanks to me.” He clenched his hands into fists. “I still need to check on Forrest. The man was working with Liam. If nothing else, he would have helped Liam kill you. You should... if you want, you can take him into custody. I think he'll go willingly enough. But if you don't–”

“ _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin backed a step away again, because now Arthur just sounded fed up. “I'm not working with them. I would never work with them!”

“I know that, dammit!”

Merlin froze.

Arthur stalked forward and grabbed Merlin's arm, pulling him forward as Arthur marched him back toward the heart of Camelot. “I know you would never have worked to try to kill me, Merlin, so just shut up for a minute and let me think!”

Merlin blinked.

Arthur's grip on his bad arm almost seemed to tear something in him, but Merlin didn't say a word. Arthur's pace was fast, as if he were devouring the ground. Merlin stumbled more than once, his feet tripping over themselves as Arthur tugged his upper arm, pulling his entire body off-balance. Yet Arthur never slowed, never stopped, until they passed the lower town and returned to the higher town, the castle looming into the sky. He finally let go of Merlin and stopped for a moment. Merlin waited.

“Go inside,” Arthur said after a couple of minutes.

“No.”

Arthur glared at him. “Go inside! You can't afford to be a part of this.”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. “What?”

Arthur ran a hand over his face, then through his hair. Merlin stared at the resulting cowlick until Arthur pulled it back down with an annoyed grunt. “My father knows you...” Arthur waved his hand, stopping his words short. He barely restrained himself from looking around to see if anyone was listening. “If he hears you were near these men, that would be it. You have to go to my room, work on chores – no. Go to Gaius. Work on potions or whatever he actually thinks it possible for you to do.”  
  
Merlin bristled at that, but it was an automatic response, and they both ignored it. “You want me to leave? But the man's still a sorcerer, Arthur. I can't just leave you–”

“You can and you will. I've taken down sorcerers countless times before, Merlin, and I'll have my knights accompany me. But I need you to stay with Gaius until this is over. Do you understand?”

Merlin shook his head. “You have no idea how many times I've saved your life,” Merlin said, and for once, Arthur's brows lowered instead of rose. “You don't have to defend me. I don't need it. I won't break my promise to you, so you don't have to keep trying. After this, I can leave.” But if he did, would Arthur be safe? Merlin looked away and cleared his throat. “Or at least, I can stay away from you, maybe even from the castle–”

“Shut up and go to Gaius!” Arthur slashed out a hand. “I don't want to hear any more. Do you understand me?Your job now is to keep yourself alive.”

“Your life comes first,” Merlin said, and once again, Arthur, for a short instant, froze.

“Go,” Arthur said, “or I will take you and lock you in the dungeons. And while I do, this 'forest' person may escape.”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. Shook his head. “You can't be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Arthur stalked forward and stood over Merlin, using his less-than-one-inch to somehow loom over Merlin completely. “Now go to Gaius. We will arrest the man and speak later.” Merlin opened his mouth to protest. “ _Now_ , before I pick you up and carry you in!”

Merlin gaped. Arthur looked ready to do it. Somehow the idea of being manhandled into the castle seemed even worse than going to the stocks.

Merlin looked toward the smithy, even though the still-lingering crowd blocked his view of within. Forrest had been hesitant to use the cursed dagger on Arthur. And it wasn't like the man had it now. Had Liam been the one with the skill, or had Forrest? Would Forrest fight back? Hurt Arthur or the townspeople? He didn't think so, but how could he be sure? He'd trusted Edwin, after all, and look where that had gotten him.

But Arthur looked positively murderous, and finally Merlin bowed his head and turned. Leaving Arthur alone with a sorcerer rankled in every way; if Forrest should see fit to attack, there wasn't much Arthur or the others could do. Merlin almost turned back, but he could feel Arthur's gaze on his back, and he knew the man would wait until Merlin was inside the castle. Should he turn back around after Arthur stopped watching?

Of course, Arthur had a point, too. If Merlin was on the scene when sorcerers were arrested, Uther would lump him in with Forrest and Liam. Gaius would be willing to cover for Merlin and say he was helping him, that Merlin couldn't have been a part of what had happened in the town today. Even if others saw him running around, they would assume Merlin had been helping Gaius or Arthur, as usual.

He'd made promise to Arthur. He hadn't quite known what he'd been promising down in that crypt, but he wasn't going to break it.

The castle seemed colder, almost unwelcoming. He hunched his shoulders and hurried up the stairs and down the corridors, trailing his good hand along the walls, flipping the tapestries lightly, until he reached Gaius' chambers. Gaius looked up at his entrance, his brows furrowed. “Merlin?”

Merlin opened his mouth. Words didn't come. He shook. “Gaius... I think I've really messed up this time.”

Gaius moved faster than Merlin had ever seen him. “What do you mean? What happened?” Gaius grabbed his shoulders, and he couldn't keep himself from wincing. Gaius let go immediately. “Well?”

So he told Gaius about what he'd heard Liam and Forrest talking about the night before. He told Gaius about going to speak to Arthur – Gaius sucked in a breath, then put a hand on Merlin's shoulder when he talked about the fight that culled any chance of speaking with Arthur about the actual problem – and then finally about his fight with Liam. He talked about having used the dagger against the man – “You had no choice, Merlin” – and how Arthur was arresting Forrest as they spoke.

Gaius led Merlin to the bench and moved the mortar and pestle he'd obviously been using before Merlin interrupted. “And now he's furious with me and I don't think I'm going to be able to stay anymore, Gaius.” Merlin curled into himself where he sat. He'd never told Gaius about the relationship he and Arthur had once shared, but he was certain Gaius at least had an idea. The man knew everything.

“I'm certain the prince doesn't think you were involved, Merlin,” Gaius said, one arm gently over Merlin's shoulders, carefully avoiding Merlin's still-twitching arm. Gaius held Merlin's hand out, his gaze focused on the small spasms that rocked the limb. “He will not exile you.”

“You didn't see him, Gaius. He looked at me like I wasn't even a person anymore. Like I was...” Merlin shuddered and clamped his lips shut. Gaius rubbed his fingers over the back of Merlin's wrist. His entire arm jumped. “He may have saved me, Gaius, but he regrets it. By now, he's wondered if I had enchanted him, or drugged him. He'd have wondered if there was anything good in me at all. He's been taught to hate sorcerers, Gaius, and I can tell he hates me now.”

Gaius sighed. “Some philosophers say there's no love without hate, and no hate without love.” Merlin gave him a look as he slowly had Merlin lift his arm, then lower it. The shaking only got worse. Gaius frowned. “I'm serious, Merlin. Arthur's going to be upset that you kept such a secret from him. But he doesn't hate you. He's just confused. Angry.”

“Yeah. Because he hates me.” Merlin slumped onto the table as Gaius finally let him put his arm down. It throbbed something awful, and he thought he could feel his magic sizzling along the length of it. His arm trembled still, as if he had muscle cramps.

Gaius sighed again and stood, walking over to his cupboard of poultices and potions. “Merlin, Prince Arthur wouldn't bother being so angry with someone he didn't care about. Now stop complaining and tell me again exactly what happened with your arm.”

Merlin groaned. “I don't know, Gaius. I was holding that stupid knife and when I used magic, it was like the souls... I don't know. As if they were feeding off of it. Off of me.”

Gaius paused for a moment. Then he slowly closed the cupboard drawer. “Then I'm afraid this might need more than a simple remedy.”

It figured. Merlin clunked his head back down on the table.

Gaius turned to speak again, but a sharp rap on the door snapped his mouth shut again. The door opened to reveal Prince Arthur and a contingency of knights. Merlin stood, his heart pounding up into his throat. “Gaius. The king would like to speak with you regarding the information you gave me on the blacksmiths Forrest and Liam.”

Gaius blinked. Merlin blinked. Arthur steadfastly refused to look Merlin in the eye. He felt his hopes plummet as Gaius nodded. “Of course. Merlin, keep stirring that paste. I don't want it ruined like the last batch.”

Merlin made a face. He hadn't ruined any last batch of anything. Then he realized what Gaius was doing and sighed, pulling the mortar and pestle toward him. He snuck another glance at Arthur as he turned to leave, but still nothing. To the prince, it was as if he wasn't in the room at all.

Merlin diligently finished off Gaius' paste – for burns, if he was right about the smell – but then he moved into his room. It was a disaster, of course, since he had no desire to clean after himself after cleaning after Arthur all day. But he ignored the clothes and unmade sheets and moved toward the loose board in the floor. He smoothed one hand over the wood. He was fairly certain Arthur would give him the opportunity to take his things if he had to leave the castle. He could grab his spellbook and the dragon figure his father had made him and...

Merlin felt sick. He sat there beside the loose board and held one firm hand to his chest, as if he could keep his heart in place just by willing it to be so.

He didn't want to leave.

Each breath felt like pulling the air through glass. Arthur may hate him now, may want him gone, but Merlin couldn't help but love him. One day, Arthur might realize just what Merlin was trying to show him – that those with magic were simply people with one more gift than the average person. It had been too sudden. Too soon. And maybe, the message shouldn't have come from Merlin. Maybe this was how this was all fated to end.

He gasped. He didn't _want_ this to be the end.

He heard movement outside his room, and he struggled to his feet. His arm thrashed as he raised it, and he winced. Someone opened the door to his room. Arthur. The man closed the door behind him, and Merlin cocked his head. “No guards?”

Arthur didn't bother answering. He looked Merlin up and down as if he'd never seen him before. Unlike before Uther had found out, there was no lust in those eyes. “They're with my father,” Arthur said, and somehow the words sounded ominous. “Gaius is still speaking with him; apparently they both knew Liam from before the Purge.” Arthur's lips thinned there at the end.

Merlin nodded. The words meant nothing to him. “You told them not to touch the dagger?” When Arthur nodded, Merlin stood and moved toward his bed. Behind it, hidden still in its cloth, was the other dagger. He held it out. “This is another one. It was supposed to be given to Lord Broll, but I... I stopped it from reaching him.” Arthur looked from the dagger to Merlin. “The man wants to kill his mistress.”

“And you just happen to know this.”

Anger bubbled up in him, but in the end, he was just too tired to act on it. “Though you'll never believe me, Arthur, all I've ever wanted was for you to be safe. I want you to become king, because I know you'll be great.” He carefully handed the dagger over to Arthur, forcing the man to reach out and take it. Then he sat down on his bed. “I don't think there's another one, but a good raid of the smithy wouldn't hurt.”

Arthur didn't react. He just stared at the cloth over the dagger as if entranced. He rubbed his thumb over the cloth. Merlin lurched forward, terrified suddenly that Arthur would foolishly cut himself on the thing, but then Arthur turned. “Go to my room and wait for me.”

The order usually had so many more connotations than it did this time. Feeling as if the funeral bells were about to ring, Merlin stood to do as told. Still, he waited for Arthur to leave before bending down and scooping up the dragon figure from underneath the board. He held it like a porcelain crown, hugged it to his chest, and told himself he could only try so hard. At least he'd kept Arthur safe.

* * *

 

He took his time walking down the halls, running his fingers over the rough stone, catching the colors woven in the tapestries that hung from the ceiling. And still he arrived, like he was walking to the execution block, at the door to Arthur's chambers. He touched the wood, the smooth lines of the tree it had been carved from dark smudges under his fingertips, before he twisted the knob and stepped inside.

Despite everything, just the sight of the table and chairs, the four-poster canopy bed bedecked in red, the open curtains showering light on the open space, made something in Merlin relax. And the relaxation hurt, because it was the last time.

Merlin looked around the room. It didn't look like Arthur had decided to smash anything after their argument this time, so Merlin set about straightening the room as best he could with his arm still convulsing every few minutes. He rubbed it absently. Gaius had said it wasn't something to be cured naturally, which of course meant searching out some magical solution. Well, he supposed he wouldn't have much of a problem, then. He would be able to search everywhere, to his heart's content, soon enough.

He didn't want to. He wanted to stay. Despite everything, this was his home. His friends – Gwen, the stable hands, even the cook, though she snarled him out of her kitchens more often than not. And the closest thing he had to a father.

Gaius. Merlin bit his lip. He'd told Arthur that he would leave if Arthur decreed it. And he would, of course he would – but Gaius would hurt. He didn't want to imagine the pain and disappointment Merlin's leaving would bring the man.

Maybe he could talk with Arthur. But the very idea made him want to laugh. Talk? They hadn't been able to talk without their voices raising in weeks. After all the arguments they'd had, what more was there to say? There was nothing more between them, and begging would only hurt them both. No. It was time to go. His staying after being found out had caused enough strain. How long before things snapped?

Arthur had demanded Merlin stay by his side, but there was no place for him there anymore.

Before this degenerated further, before Arthur couldn't stand to look upon his face anymore, Merlin needed to make the first move.

The door opened, and Merlin turned to it, unflinching as Arthur stepped in and bolted the door behind him.

Even now, even at this very moment, as the morning light burned bright through the window, Arthur shone. There was an aura around him, always there, of regality, greatness. Arthur would say it was in his bearing, the way he'd been taught to stand since birth, but to Merlin it was something more. It was as if the earth itself recognized Arthur as her king, and crowned his hair in sunlight. She bathed his skin with the hue of the sun, gave the ocean to his eyes and the soft bed of the earth to his lips and skin. Mountains lie dormant in his muscles, and the earth's knowledge in his heart. On her dirt, all were equal, all were necessary. One day, Merlin was sure Arthur would realize that with his head, as well.

Merlin dipped his head, recognizing Albion's king as he stood before him. “Arthur.”

Arthur ignored him. By now, Merlin was used to it, and he merely stepped aside as Arthur swept past him, closing the curtain and slamming his sword on the table. Merlin eyed it with only slight trepidation; after all this time, he doubted Arthur would use it on him.

Arthur caught his gaze then, and he looked from Merlin to his sword and back. “This.” He slammed his hand over the sheath, slapping the sword against the table. “If I were to hold it to your throat, what would you do?”

Merlin frowned. “What?”

“Answer the question, _Mer_ lin,” he said, his words clipped and short. There was no sarcasm. No joviality.

Merlin lifted his chin. Despite his neckerchief, he knew part of his throat could be seen. “What would you have me do?”

Arthur snarled and snatched the thing up, holding the sheath instead of the hilt. He clearly had no intention of using it, despite his anger. “That's not an answer, Merlin! I demand you tell me!”

Merlin opened his mouth. Closed it. Took a deep breath. “It would be for you to decide, Arthur.”

“Dammit!” Arthur swept a hand over the table, and though nothing but an empty goblet sat on it, the clatter it made as it landed on the floor made Merlin flinch. “Damn you for saying it _again!_ ”

Merlin's arm jolted. He shook his head, clenched his fist. Arthur threw his sword across the room. It clattered against the wall. “Is your life worth so little to you?!”

Merlin gaped. “Of course not! No.”

Arthur rounded on him. “Yet you give it up without a second thought. In the crypt. On the pyre. You just used–” and here Arthur lowered his voice suddenly “– _magic_ out there in public in the middle of the day! Do you want to get killed? Do you want to die so badly?”

“No!”

“But you'll just hand your life over as if it's nothing!”

“ _To you_ , Arthur!” Merlin's arm shook even worse, so badly he thought the muscles might tear. “My life is nothing to yours. You're–”

“ _It's not nothing to me!”_

Merlin's words flew back down his throat and choked him. He reeled. “What?”

“You say these things as if they're nothing. And yet you lied to me about... about everything!” Arthur glared at him. The ocean in those eyes was thunderous. “I don't even know who you are anymore. Who you _were_.”

Merlin shook his head. This was the same old argument. The same thing. And he just couldn't do it anymore. “It doesn't matter who I am. I've tried to tell you – I'm your friend. Your servant.” Arthur snorted, just like he always did. “But it doesn't matter. All that matters is that you're safe, and that's what I'm here for. I'm supposed to watch over you, to make sure that you can become king. It's my destiny. And it's your destiny to be the greatest king Camelot has every known.” Merlin grabbed his arm when it convulsed again. His magic sang up and down his body. The words felt right. The world, him and Arthur and this room, felt right. But it was all wrong. “But it's over now.” Arthur stilled. The anger that made those brave features alive turned to stone. “It's over. And I get that. I understand.”

But Arthur was already shaking his head. “No. Shut up.  _Shut up._ You don't understand anything, Merlin.” Arthur slammed his hands on the table, then moved and grabbed Merlin by the shoulders. Merlin barely contained his wince. “All this time, I thought you were a thoughtless, harebrained fool–”

“Hey,” Merlin started.

“ _Shut up_. I thought you were an idiot, but a brave one, and loyal. I thought after all this time, I knew you. I fell in love with that brainless fool!”

Merlin flinched again. Arthur had never spoken those words to him.

“And then I come back one evening and find he's been taken away, and when I go to find him, he's been replaced with this... this...”

Merlin didn't want to hear the next word Arthur was going to say. “I'm sorry.”

“You're sorry.” The words were twisted between those beautiful lips until they didn't sound like words at all, but poison. “You're sorry.” Arthur shoved away from him, slammed his hands back down on the table. “I've heard that enough. I feel like I've heard it enough for a lifetime.” Merlin didn't know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all. This would be their last conversation – their very last fight. These words would be the last he ever heard from those lips. “I never want to hear those words again from you.”

Merlin shivered. Without the light from the window, the room looked dark, felt cold. His magic curled around him. His arm throbbed.

Arthur pushed himself away from the table and stalked up to Merlin once more. Merlin didn't move. When Arthur got in his face, Merlin simply looked into his eyes. “You said you didn't want to say no to me because you wanted to have sex with me, too.”

Merlin's throat went dry. Despite himself, he remembered that first night. “More than that, Arthur. My feelings haven't changed, even if yours have.”

Arthur grabbed his shoulders again, and this time he shook him. “If you loved me, then why didn't you  _trust_ me?!”

“I do. With my life.”

“Your life. The same one you toss away like trash?” Arthur snorted. His grip clawed like talons on his arms.

“My life was yours the moment I fell in love with you, Arthur, and that was so long ago I can't remember the day.” Arthur stilled again, his hands pressed into Merlin's shoulders. When Merlin's arm spasmed, the movement was trapped by Arthur's hand. “I'm not a knight. I'm just your servant, and I'm happy to be that until the day I die. But the vow remains. I don't give my life lightly, Arthur. I give it _freely_.”

It stopped everything. He hadn't thought it would. Hadn't thought anything, really, except that this was the end and he didn't want these things between them in their last hour. But then Arthur's hands slipped away from his shoulders, just in time for another attack, and the tremors were starting to make his shoulder and the area around his arm hurt. He grabbed it tight as Arthur turned as if to go back to the table again, only to stop and clench his fists at his sides. For once, for a moment, there was silence.

Merlin fidgeted for a second, but in the end, he cleared his throat and pressed on. “I know you'll never forgive me for what I did that day. What I let happen. I know you'll never forgive me for not fighting to get out.”

Arthur made a startled noise. “What?” He turned back around. Merlin clenched his arm tight as it shook and jolted, but the muscles in his shoulder and chest flared anyway. At least Arthur didn't seem to see. “What do you mean, you didn't fight to... your magic. Of course. Why  _didn't_ you fight?”

Startled all over again, all Merlin could do was blubber. “I... what? Isn't that why you started hating me?”

Another moment of silence, and then Arthur snapped, “ _the lies_ , Merlin! The lies are – how can I trust someone I don't even know?”

The same tired line, but all Merlin could hear was the first part.  _The lies are_ . He didn't have to use his imagination to figure out how that sentence ended.

He opened his mouth to say his tired line –  _I'm still the same person I always was_ – but Arthur wouldn't hear it and it wasn't what he wanted to say, anyway. “I was wrong.” It seemed obvious now; Arthur had brought it up all the time, but it was the one argument that never went anywhere. And the tension between them, the huge lists of chores – it was as if Arthur now thought him a stranger, and he didn't want Merlin around. Well. He had already figured out the last part. “It doesn't matter now, I guess. Whether it's because I accepted my death or because I lied to you. It doesn't change where we are now.” He took a deep breath. “I came to Camelot as no one, lost. I had this ability but had no reason for it. For my own existence. Why did I have something that no one else did? That no one in Ealdor was supposed to know about, that made people look at me with suspicion? But when I came here, I met you, and I learned that my magic existed to protect you. I finally found a reason to be proud of what I could do. I could help you.” Arthur shook his head, and Merlin hurried before Arthur could have a chance to speak. “And I came to love you.” he twisted his hands together. “I always knew it would end badly. I knew the moment I knew what it was. And then when you – when you asked, I knew I was destroying something, doing something wrong by agreeing. But it would have been wrong to deny you, too. No matter what I did, I was doomed. And maybe things would have been different if I'd said no, but I can't change that now. And I...” He had to force the words loose from his tongue, “I don't want to. Even though you hate the memories, I don't.  Dear gods, he thought, horrified; he was  _not_ going to cry. “I'm glad for them. And I'm proud to have been your manservant. I'm proud to have been... someone you thought you could love. Even if... even though it's over now, I'm still glad for everything that's happened to this point.” He nodded, and he caught Arthur's gaze, even though his own was watering up – only a little, because he wouldn't cry. “I'm proud of you, Arthur. I know you'll be a great king.”

Arthur was finally the one to go speechless, but he knew better than to open and close his mouth like a fish. His Adam's apple, however, bobbed up and down rather repeatedly. “You're saying goodbye,” he said finally, just when Merlin thought he'd gotten his emotions under control again.

He gasped in a breath as his arm shivered. “Haven't you been saying goodbye for weeks?”

He lowered his gaze as the silence returned. He'd known he was right, but he didn't want to know it. Didn't want to be reminded of it. He finally backed away.

“Merlin...”

There were no words. How could there be? Arthur had said everything he'd wanted to say for weeks now, and now Merlin had said everything he'd needed to say, as well. Now all that was left was the leaving.

Merlin's feet didn't move. He wanted to stay.

He gasped again as his arm shook, and this time breathing in was a bit more difficult. He frowned and looked down. His arm kept shivering, even after the tremors passed. Something was wrong.

“Merlin?”

His gaze shot back up. He hadn't heard that tone in Arthur's voice for a very long time. Arthur's gaze was on his arm, as well. Merlin tried to stop the movement, clenched his fist and tensed his aching muscles, and all it did was make it worse. Arthur reached out, his fingers light as they touched his arm. It didn't hurt, yet his magic sparked at the feeling. Arthur looked up at him. “What happened?”

Merlin shook his head. “I don't know. I was holding that dagger, and when I used my magic...”

Suddenly Arthur was a whirl of motion, grabbing Merlin and whirling him around to his desk, forcing him to sit in his chair. He grabbed Merlin's arm, his hands as gentle as they'd been the first time Arthur had touched him, and held it out, just as Gaius had. But already Merlin could see the difference; when before his arm had merely shaken when that jolting feeling came, now it trembled all the time. When the jolt came, it made his entire arm jerk. He hissed in an unsteady breath as the muscles in his chest hurt. “It's getting worse,” Merlin said. Arthur looked pale. “It's all right. Normally my magic heals me faster than usual. It might be trying to do that now, and that's why it's gotten worse instead of better. The daggers were cursed, after all. Souls were inside them. Maybe they reacted badly to my magic – or my magic reacted badly to them. I don't know.”

“Has Gaius seen?”

Merlin nodded. This was weird, Arthur hovering over Merlin as if to shield him. Merlin had thought these instances long gone. “He said normal remedies won't cure it.” Merlin chuckled dryly. “Of course.”

Arthur's look then was a bastard mix, and Merlin realized that Arthur didn't know where Merlin's voice of resigned experience was coming from. And then the next tremor came, and he found himself trying to suck in air and not getting anything. He shivered. The tremors passed, and he gasped. His magic curled tighter around him, a cloak wrapped around his body, trying to hold back the storm.

“Arthur,” he said, and when he breathed in, the feeling of pulled muscles in his chest rose from discomfort to pain. But he didn't know what he should say. He couldn't bear Arthur down with a new burden when the man didn't want to deal with the burdens he carried now. He couldn't ask for help from someone who had already given more help than perhaps he should have. He thought maybe he should go, but when he tried to move, Arthur pushed him back in the chair.

“Tell me what to do,” Arthur said, and Merlin couldn't understand. He shook his head. “Tell me!”

“I don't know. I don't know. Something... it's a curse, so it needs to be purified, right?” Merlin grinned weakly. “Though I don't know if there are many pure places left.” He didn't say why; he didn't have to. Arthur's face twisted. “I'll find one,” he told his king. “Don't worry.”

As if a switch had been thrown, Arthur stood. “Get up. We're leaving.”

Merlin sat and stared as Arthur went and grabbed his sword, strapping it right back on his waist. Ha. So the prat really could dress himself. Merlin thought maybe he should applaud. But then Arthur turned at him and scowled, and he thought maybe the man got enough applause. Best not to overfeed that ego. “Merlin,  _get up_ . We need to go.”

“Go where?” But Merlin still struggled to get up, his bad arm nearly failing him as he pulled himself to his feet.

Then another spasm came, and Merlin felt his magic rise up around him, swirling inside him. A surge of power leaped. He felt as if he was trapped in place again, then as if his magic was swallowing him like a tidal wave. With a gasp, he crumpled to the floor.

 


End file.
